We Improvised
by SageK
Summary: written for leverage sesa for serenelystrange


It had been three days since Eliot had allowed himself to be captured by the Venezuelan cartel in order to allow Sophie and Nate to escape untouched and unseen. During those days, Nate had scrambled to develop a plan of extraction, but everything he came up with took time to implement. And they had no idea how much time Eliot had or even if he was still alive at all.

Hardison was hunched over his keyboard, attempting to hack into the surveillance system of the compound they thought Eliot was being held at. Unfortunately, the Venezuelans were more paranoid than a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Their security systems were on a dedicated server and not wired in in any way. Even if he did manage to piggy back off a cell, the place must have been fortified with scramblers, since people went in with phones, but no signals came out.

"Damn!" he cursed, shoving back from the keyboard angrily. Nate and Sophie were out, trying to make contacts that could find their way into the veritable fortress and had left him trying to work his magic on the computers. Unfortunately, his mojo was a no go and he hated when that happened.

"This is taking too long!"

They had barely convinced Parker that having her sneak in alone to try to extract Eliot was a bad idea. Arguments about the upped security, her inability to carry Eliot if he couldn't move under his own power fell on deaf ears, maybe even convinced her further that a rescue mission was necessary. It was Sophie who provided the voice of reason, asking her how Eliot would feel if any of them got caught trying to rescue him. The hitter always made it clear that the dangerous, get hit and beat up parts of the cons were his territory alone.

But each successive day found Parker revisiting her half-formed rescue plan and Hardison was starting to agree with her. Nate's plans all took way too damn long.

"I don't like it either," he told the blond with a tired sigh. Rescue ops were not his thing. They were Eliot's, only this time; he was the one in need of rescuing. "What are we gonna do?"

A leather bound book landed on the desk in front of him. Hardison looked from it to Parker, who was perched on the back of a chair. He knew this book. Hell, they all knew this book. It was Eliot's _In Case of Emergency_ contact book. The book that lived in it's own drawer in Nate's desk, back in Boston.

How did she get it? There was no way she'd had time to go back up north, get the book and return. It wasn't possible.

"Where did you get that?" he asked her, reaching out and picking the text up. Eliot had very strict rules about the book. _You didn't look at the book. You didn't talk about the book. You didn't touch the book…unless a shit storm of epic proportions was raining down upon you and he wasn't there to kick bad guy ass. _It was kind of like Fight Club…_I wonder if that movie accurately portrayed underground fight clubs? Note to self, ask Eliot._

"He had it in his bag." Parker was looking exceptionally grave. Pointing at the book she said, "I think he knew something like this might happen. We have to do something!"

"Nate said…."

"I know," she said, then hopped down and walked over to him, holding out her hand. "But I want to at least try to get Eliot back in one piece. I know Nate is trying, in his way, but we don't have time for an elaborate scheme. We need fast and hard. So either hand me the book or…."

"I'm making some calls."

"Right."

Picking up his phone, Hardison hoped Eliot's contacts were, well friendly wasn't the right word, cause they kind of needed mean and violent, but some what civilized would be nice…What the hell, as long as they weren't biting the heads off chickens in the kitchen, he'd take 'em.

* * *

Say what you would about Eliot, the people he trusted also trusted him and wasted no time in hustling down to Florida to come to his aid. They were an interesting collection of people and Hardison was questioning the actual wisdom of calling them for help.

First to arrive, in a sweet '67 Impala, was Dean Winchester, whose name and number were listed in Eliot's book beside one word -- Hunter. They had pondered this for a moment, knowing Eliot's distaste for guns, but decided that, since he was on the list, maybe he used a crossbow. The weapons the pretty, pretty man -- hey, Hardison was secure enough in his own sexuality to note the fact that Winchester was hot, at least to himself -- had pulled from the trunk of his car contradicted that. He wanted to get straight to work, as he had dropped his brother off at some "Weak emo college alt rock music festival and didn't want to leave him there too long", lest he be totally "pussified". Hardison had almost laughed, but had assured him the others would be arriving soon.

He was tall, thirtyish and, despite the pretty boy face, looked like he could handle himself in a fight. He certainly knew how to handle the weapons he laid out to clean as they waited for the rest of the backup to arrive. The interest Parker was showing in the array of guns and knives was unnerving and Hardison made a note to warn the guy to keep an eye on his stuff. The last thing they needed was Parker running around with a sawed off shotgun. Seriously, the man had like three of them and Parker was eyeing one.

Rupert Giles was next, three associates of his own trailing along with him. The fact that he was named Rupert was enough to make Alec blink, as was the cultured English accent, but he figured Sophie was a Brit, so they must come in badass as well as grifter flavor. But the man who arrived was pretty much the opposite of badass, in Alec's not too humble opinion. He was a tall guy, sure, but approaching fifty, with sandy, graying hair, glasses and a bit of a stammer. He looked like a freaking librarian or something!

His colleagues weren't much better. There was Xander, in his early twenties, who was loud, made a lot of jokes, but wore an admittedly cool Hawaiian shirt and eye patch. A real, I-have-no-eyeball eye patch. Dawn was younger, late teens at most, with long, shiny brown hair and fair skin. No way was she going to be part of a tactical assault, no way. He was pretty sure at least Winchester was on the same page as him on this. Li Ann, tiny and slight with the blackest eyes ever was a bit older than Dawn and something about the way she walked, the way she held herself, said she was stronger than she looked.

They had barely gotten settled in; throwing around words like wards and magic that made Hardison wonder if perhaps Eliot was a closet gamer, when Lindsey MacDonald arrived in a battered, ancient, red pickup truck. On the phone, the man had sounded eerily similar to Eliot, but Hardison just put that off as the two of them possibly sharing a geological background, but was proved very, very wrong. Lindsey was almost a perfect doppelganger for Eliot; hair a bit shorter, the scar on the chin missing and a large tattoo visible on his chest through the V of his shirt.

Parker had hauled him out of the room after this last arrival, leaving Lindsay to trade glares with Rupert and his insane clown posse, while Dean looked on in interest.

"There are two of him!" Parker hissed, peering around the corner at their guests. "Oh my God, which one's the evil twin? There's always an evil twin…I don't think it's Eliot. No one evil would feed us waffles, so he must be the evil one!"

It was kind of a trip being the voice of reason, but Alec found himself playing that part, placing his hands on Parker's shoulders and saying, "Parker, I don't think either of them is evil…that's just in the movies. Although Eliot did have him down as being a lawyer, so maybe he's a little evil."

Parker just gave him a look, turned on her toes and marched back into the main room. Finger extended somewhat accusingly at Lindsey (and Hardison had to feel a little sorry for the guy, what with being saddled with that name), she asked, "Are you the evil twin?"

Lindsey blinked at her, stepped back and, oddly, cradled his right hand against his chest protectively and said, "No."

This denial was made less effective by Dawn and Xander chorusing, "YES!"

From where he was inspecting one of Dean's knives, Rupert looked up and said, "Possibly."

"Oh come on!" Lindsey groused. "True I inhabit a morally gray area, but I am not evil. Okay, maybe the hand is, occasionally, but most of me, no."

Hardison didn't quite know what to make of the hand comment and waved his own finger between possibly evil Lindsey and Rupert and Company "We gonna have a problem with…whatever it is y'all got happening? Cause we got a violent, cranky man to rescue."

There were disgruntled mumbles from several parties, but further conversation was put on hold by the arrival of two more men, not that they came together, they just happened to arrive at the same time. They too seemed to have some sort of history, both listed as espionage operatives. They immediately planted themselves at opposite corners of the room so as better to glare at each other.

Julian Sark was another Brit, but instead of being older, he looked like he should be lolling around a quad somewhere. He was slim, pasty and blond, didn't really look like any sort of spy Hardison had ever heard of. Alex Krycek was bigger, broader and dark haired, with green eyes you could see from ten yards away. He wore a battered leather jacket, as black as Sark's designer suit, and appeared to have a prosthetic arm.

That was a little much and Hardison asked, "Um, man, I don't mean to be un-PC and all, but…you only got one arm!"

Those strange green eyes locked on him and the man smiled. "Only need one," he replied, husky voice a bit at odds with his fairly elfin features. The statement sent chills down Hardison's spine and he thought the man could probably kill him without the one hand he had. It was more the look than the words, cause Hardison was pretty sure he'd seen that gleam in Eliot's eyes right before the man decided to take on a whole group of armed gang members.

"Hey!" Parker called everyone's attention to herself with a short, sharp shout. The blond stood in the middle of the room and it was then that Hardison realized all their guests had drifted towards the walls, so as to keep an eye on each other. He'd seen Eliot put his back to a wall when in potentially hostile situations, but not when in a room with friends. Obviously, these folks shared no such warm fuzzy feelings.

Waving her hand in a arch to encompass the whole of the group, she said, "I really don't care if you guys want to kill each other, but save it for later…and no killing Hardison. He's a non-combatant."

Hardison knew he should feel a little insulted that she didn't think he could take scary, one armed guy, but honestly, he was too grateful to care.

The last two men they had called in arrived within moments of each other and had some striking similarities. Both were tall, blond men with blue eyes and wore brown leather jackets, jeans and boots. Mike Kellerman was a PI from Baltimore, a former cop as it turned out. Those were skills they could use. When Jack Landry removed his coat to reveal a black shirt and white clerical collar, that was a bit of a shock. What the hell was a priest doing in Eliot's _In Case of Emergency _book? Unless he was supposed to offer Last Rites or something and Alec didn't want to even think about that.

And apparently his weren't the most strenuous objections to the man's presence. Xander actually let out a little yelp and took a step or two back while Dawn glowered and Rupert eyed him warily. Li Ann seemed a bit less affronted, but the tension of her companions caused her to ask, "Should I…"

She made an odd sort of stabbing motion with her hand and, after a moment's hesitation, Rupert said, "No…just be ready."

Father Jack was looking like he was wondering exactly what sort of craziness he had gotten himself into and casting his eyes around the room, seemed to decide Hardison was the least scary looking of the bunch. Or maybe just the least likely to stab him.

As the priest drifted in Hardison's direction, Parker stepped up onto the coffee table and said, "Okay, since we're all here now, I'll catch you all up."

Hardison wished Nate or even Sophie had returned from their respective hunts for info or potential ways into the Venezuelans' compound. The whole "Here's the deal" spiel was really more their bailiwick.

"There's a very nasty group of Venezuelan drug dealers who have been taking over the area and pushing some bad…dope onto people. We were covertly representing the grieving families of some of their victims and, while attempting to gather incriminating evidence on them, they grabbed Eliot."

Hardison keyed up a graphic and spun it around so everyone could see it. "This is their compound. Hardison will go over the details….Hey, Patch! Eye over here. Important information being imparted. I know the whole concept is kinda creepy, but stop eyeballing the priest."

Not sure who looked more insulted, Xander or Father Jack, Alec just let out a sigh. He really should have known better. When they tried to run even parts of ops on their own, things always went wonky. And that was with Eliot's calming influence.

And how messed up was that? The guy whose job it was to bash peoples heads in, the guy Hardison was sure he'd heard Nate say killed the Butcher of Kiev with a stuffed mushroom, was a calming influence.

If he weren't so worried that the more time they wasted, the more chance there'd be of getting in there and finding a body instead of a royally pissed off man, Hardison would have insisted they wait for Nate, but since their mastermind was currently incommunicado, they didn't have that choice.

Nope, the extraction was up to them and Eliot's buddies.

Hardison knew he'd never refer to their team as a motley crew again, as this gathering of people redefined the term, setting the bar far higher than they could ever hope to achieve.

* * *

"Wait in the car, Dawn. It's to dangerous, Dawn. What would Buffy think, Dawn? Let's just forget that I took an active role in the final battle in Sunnydale. Vampires, demons, various evil magic users, sure, fight them, but some hopped up drug dealer, oh no, sit this one out…."

Hardison sat in the back of one of the vans they had, ahem, arranged the use of for their little rescue operation, monitoring the comms each person on their makeshift team wore. Dawn was unhappily slumped in the drivers seat of the van, as Rupert and Xander had resoundly vetoed the idea of her taking part in the actual breaking and entering. Hardison wasn't entirely clear on their reasoning, but from the bits of whispered conversation he had overheard, they were afraid of someone named "Buffy" and also "Mr. Pointy II".

Sometimes, as with Parker's occasional mysterious smile that would coincide with a large theft of a priceless jewel, it was just better not to ask. Especially when he didn't want to think about the fact that they were entrusting Eliot's rescue, in part, to a couple of men afraid of a Buffy. Cause, really, that detracted major points from a guy's bad ass standing. And, Mr. Pointy? Just disturbing.

After much pouting, it was decided that Dawn would wait in the van with Hardison, due mostly to the weird hate on she and her friends had for Father Jack, who seemed like a decent sort of guy and was driving the other van.

The other nine members of their crew split into smaller teams to stage a three pronged assault. Parker, along with Sark and Li Ann, whom proved as nimble and just as distressingly familiar with the idea of scaling the side of, what was essentially, a heavily fortified fortress, went in first, easily skirting the perimeter alarms. Once they reached the room, they radioed in that they were making entry through ventilation shafts, something only they, slender and sylph like, could manage.

The other six men, showing more than passing familiarity sneaking into places without being noticed, infiltrated the compound and split into two groups. Krycek, Dean and Lindsey would stage a blitz on the security forces, with Rupert, Mike and Xander backing them up. While they caused a distraction, Parker's team would locate Eliot, collect him and get out.

Hardison was a bit fuzzy on the details of how exactly they planned on making a clean getaway, but they seemed fairly confident. The fact that Parker seemed impressed by whatever Sark had stuffed into a few of his pockets…well, that was another don't ask/don't want to know situation.

So, as usual, as if this wasn't an entirely freaky experience, Hardison sat in a van with his computer, but instead of hearing Nate's directions, he had Dawn muttering her discontent. Instead of Eliot's brief growls, Sophie's dulcet tones or, actually Parker was still making strange but interesting comments, he was treated to a litany of different voices, thankfully mostly hushed.

"Are you stuck back there?"

"…Uhh.. No, not anymore."

"Nǐ yǒu duō shǎo nǐ lí kāi guó fáng bù de pí fū huí dào nà lǐ?" (How much of your skin did you leave back there?)

"Bù gòu de wèn tí." (Not enough to matter.)

"Folks, not to seem ethnocentric, but we need to understand each other, so, English, please," Hardison said, hoping Sark and Li Ann wouldn't continue to snip at each other in what he was fairly certain was Chinese.

For about twenty minutes, they all waited, tense and ready, the two teams of fighters silent, trying not to be noticed by roaming security. There were a couple more close calls in the vents, where, apparently, Sark's shoulders occasionally became an issue in particularly tight corners.

Finally, Parker said, "Got him…Oh, Eliot….please move, please, please…He's alive. Looks like two in the room with him and one guarding the door."

"Not a problem," Sark muttered and Li Ann made a non verbal sound of agreement.

"Everyone in positions?" Hardison asked, half listening to the murmured prayer coming from Father Jack in the other van. Everyone checked in and more voices joined the low chatter, Lindsey's and Rupert's, but they weren't praying with Jack. Whatever they were doing, it wasn't in English.

"Go." Hardison called for the distraction to start and it did. Actually, all hell broke loose. And if Parker's supposition was correct and Lindsey was, in fact, Eliot's evil twin then that statement may have been more literal than figurative.

The first hint that things were not playing out in the usual fashion was the first explosion, which was immediately followed by the fast, chaotic sounds of a fight. Other smaller, stranger booms and crackles, shouting, gunfire, clangs of metal, the dull thud of fists and feet impacting flesh.

"Eliot! Eliot, look at me!"

Well, from the sound of things, Parker and her team had gotten into the room with Eliot and, if she was trying to talk with him, probably neutralized any baddies. It was frustrating, not having any sort of visual, or even a schematic of where people were or should be. Uber paranoid security freaks who were not him were so on the top of his shit list.

"Worked him over good, whoever did this was a pro." Sark sounded like the voice of experience on such matters.

"We must go now. Carry him." That was Li Ann, who, very reasonably, sounded like she wanted to get the hell out of Dodge.

"He's not gonna like that." Parker used her odd little sing song voice and that told Hardison she was worried.

Not wanting any more angry Venezuelans to find them, Hardison said, "Just grab him and…"

"What are you doing?!"

"Adrenaline. It'll get him on his feet long enough for us to get out of here."

"You carry adrenaline with you?"

"What the hell?!"

Hardison knew that pissed off roar even before Parker said, "Eliot! I'm so glad you're not dead!"

"Parker," Eliot's voice was harsh and ragged with pain and exhaustion, but jittery from the effects of the shot, "and…Sark? What…"

He was obviously shocky and confused. "No time to explain," Parker said and there was a rustle and a pained groan that Hardison could hear loud and clear over the comm. "Just hang onto me."

For the next five minutes, the only things that could be heard over the comms were the sounds of violence being done. Lots and lots of violence. And screaming… and more of that freaky Latin sounding chanting.

Then there was an explosion that made the earlier booms seem like Fourth of July poppers. Before Hardison could start yelling for an update, several voices began bellowing.

"Start the engines!"

"Open the doors!"

"Get ready to move!"

Everyone flung themselves into the vans and Dawn and Father Jack put the pedals to the metal, peeling out of there in a screech of rubber that most certainly left a mark.

Everyone was pretty pleased with a job well done, until they walked back into the hotel suite to find Nate and Sophie, who were none too happy to think Hardison and Parker had gone haring off on their own. The fact that they had back up only mollified them so much.

* * *

"How exactly did you two came up with this plan? Did you even have a plan or…not that I'm not glad you managed to get Eliot out of there, but…."

Nate and Sophie had returned to the hotel suites the team had rented out; not when they were informed of the safe retrieval of Eliot, but when half of the Venezuelans' compound had been engulfed in an enormous ball of fire. Apparently, when they asked Eliot's buddies to keep the body count low, Sark and Krycek took it as a suggestion not a rule. Either that or they just didn't care how many people they took out in order to achieve their objective.

Now they stood facing the two youngest members of their team while Eliot was being seen to by a couple of his friends, who, unsurprisingly had a more than passing familiarity with guerilla medical care. Hardison was at least looking a bit contrite, while Parker said, "We tried to call you, but you didn't answer so we improvised."

"You improvised…with them?"

The four of them turned to where Eliot's friends were milling while Eliot slumped on a sofa, having basically collapsed once the hot shot had worn off. Now Dean, Rupert and Father Jack seemed to be in the middle of offering medical care while the other watched and offered commentary, but for Sark and Krycek, who had resumed glaring at each other.

"Some of these cuts need stitching," Dean was saying as he shrugged out of his leather jacket. "Someone get me a penknife, some dental floss, a sewing needle and whiskey. Lots of whiskey."

This at least stirred Eliot from his descent into oblivion. "We have suture kits, Winchester."

"Gone all high end on us, huh? I'm not so good with that stuff. Dental floss works fine."

"I can suture," Father Jack offered quickly, looking vaguely queasy at the idea of using floss to hold torn skin together.

The little medical cabal looked to Rupert, who was also hovering nearby, but he shrugged. "I was going to say we could dump some sugar on the wounds."

Eyebrows were raised, and from the corner where she, Li Ann and Xander were still watching Jack as though they expected him start speaking in tongues, Dawn said, "It helps with clotting."

Dean snorted. "Sure it's not an ingredient in some of your magic?"

With a sniff, Giles said, "I do not use magic frivolously."

"'Sides, healing magic's real tough to control," Lindsey muttered from the chair he had dropped into. "Though you really look like you could use some right about now. I've seen sewer demons prettier than you."

Eliot glared with the eye he could peel open and hissed. "I can still kick your ass, bad seed."

"That reminds me, your hot little blond friend keeps calling me the evil twin. What's up with that?"

"You _are_ the evil twin."

"You all live in a very different world than rest of us normal folks, don't ya," Mike said lightly as he iced badly bruised ribs. "Cause all I'm hearing is crazy talk. Padded room and straight jacket type crazy, not just run of the mill talking to the office plants crazy."

Looking up from sanitizing a deep gash that ran from Eliot's shoulder to his pectoral muscle, Father Jack cast Mike a truly relieved look. "Oh, good, I'm not the only one," he said, offering Mike a similarly freaked out smile. "Next thing you know, someone's going to start talking about little green men."

"Grey."

The comment was made by Krycek and drew everyone's attention. The one armed man gave an unconcerned shrug and said, "Little grey men."

Looks were exchanged and it was Dean who raised a warning finger and said, "You know what? I already got too much crap to deal with, so you keep whatever that is to yourself."

There was a general murmur of agreement and Nate turned to Hardison. "This is your crack rescue team?" the mastermind said, obviously trying not to be rude, but failing quite spectacularly.

Parker nodded and said, "We got the job done."

"You blew up an entire building…and a lot of Venezuelans."

"For the sake of clarification, let me note, these are Eliot's friends, not mine," Hardison said quietly, hoping none of the aggressive and violent people could hear him. If they did, they didn't seem to care. "And I asked them not to kill anyone."

"How did you even have their contact information?" Sophie asked, keeping a trained eye on the occupants of the next room as if waiting for the first signs of violence

"Eliot's book," Parker said with a nod, then, deciding her point had been made, she strolled into the living room and plunked herself on the arm of Eliot's chair.

"So help me Parker, you start pokin' me," came Eliot's muffled voice, but he trailed off without issuing a real threat.

She peered down at him and said, "Not today."

With a pained grunt, he looked up at her, then met Hardison's gaze from where he stood by the still shaken Nate and Sophie. "Thanks," he said to them. "Good work."

For Eliot it was effusive praise and Hardison grinned at Nate. "Look, I know it might not have been one of your plans, but it worked, none of us died and we're all in one piece. Can't we just call it a win?"

Nate and Sophie exchanged a look and, Sophie said, " I suppose getting to know trustworthy individuals who can be called upon in times of dire need is always prudent."

Hardison nodded and agreed. "Ummhmmm, what she said."

"All right," Nate agree, obviously too pleased to have their hitter back relatively intact to hold onto his annoyance over their unorthodox plan. "Why don't you…."

"Ummm, does someone want to do something, cause I think Sark and Krycek are like, this close to bloodshed," Dawn called from the other room, where indeed, the two spies were circling each other. Rupert was immediately up, helping Xander hustle Dawn and Li Ann back out of range.

Lindsey grinned and turned in his chair. "It's like tossin' a pair a rabid raccoons in pillow case, isn't it?"

"My money's on Lefty," Dean put in his two cents and sat back to watch the imminent carnage. "Anyone got snacks?"

Mike quickly moved past Nate and Sophie, wisely removing himself from the arena while Father Jack said, "I don't suppose appealing to their better natures…"

"Sorry, Padre," Eliot drawled, "This _is_ their better natures. If they were pissed, they'd both be bleedin' already."

"Trustworthy individuals?" Nate murmured, causing Alec to shrug.

"Hey, they held it together this long, didn't they?"

Nate pondered this for a moment, then, for once, decided not to over think. His team was back together and everyone was alive. Like Hardison said, it was a win.

Even if two professional espionage agents trashed the hotel room.


End file.
